Labeled Mind And White Name
by thingsthatwanderaway
Summary: Sequel to Empty Memories and Broken Tears. Set five years after. Do enjoy.


**Sequel to Empty Memories and Broken Tears. Set five years after and I put this up because a lot of people liked the first and im trying to get over my writers block by writing more stories. **

**Enjoy.**

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He does not have a name anymore.

Oh, he had a birth name, the one that everyone still uses, he even has another name where he is to. Two names. He had many nicknames back then, but many of their users were not here anymore. Not a lot of people he knew where here anymore.

Does any friends or family you know have numbers in their name? Three, to be exact? Three boring numbers that tell others how many before you came to this terrible white place? No, they don't.

He just has a label for a name now. His other name is gone.

Sure, a person here or there will whisper his true name, but it doesn't matter to him. They still try to get him to respond to his name during sessions, but he just looks at his bones in the reflection of the table. They are starting to give up, which he likes. He prefers to be called his other name, because the first one reminds him of _her._

Her.

It was rare that he never stopped to think about something else other than her. Most of the time he simply tries to just _remember_ her, her snippy little voice, her smooth and strong willed face, her beautiful blue eyes that held a fiery passion within them. But it seemed the more he tried to remember her, the more he forgot about her.

She was becoming fuzzy now. A picture faded over time. He's now forgotten her name, but her still knows her nickname.

But he never speaks it. He never speaks at all. He just lays on his white bed in his white room with his white clothes.

White.

She is white now, her once red skin pale as the snow that fell around her. Her eyes are not blue, just white orbs of nothing. She is nothing.

White.

They thought that the color white helps to soothe the mind and calm it down. But it only makes it worse. White, never ending white surround everything, his eyes are lost in the white oblivion, he sinks down in the white quick sand. He wishes to be free, but the white locks him away.

White.

The color of his mind. Blank, empty, motionless, but working. Not broken like so many in this white place with their broken and scribbled minds of red. But that is what they think he has. That his mind is red and broken and scattered into pieces and must be filled up with white. Oh, how wrong they are.

White.

Maybe they think that because of his skin, his white bony skin. He doesn't mind it though. It gives him no pain at all, and the liquid food pumped in his body gives him no pain at all. His eye are not white. Glazed, but not white.

Brown.

He is pulled away from the endless white nothingness, just for a little while. Brown. That is the color he sees now, standing before him. It's large, and he relishes that difference, the little haze of freedom he has.

White.

The sweet brown is gone, replaced by the white. He cries out a silent wail for the brown. He misses it, the brown that stood from the white, his freedom, taken away and placed back with this forever white.

White.

That is all he sees now. He does not see the figure before him, the voice that echoes his past name to his dead ears. He feels white only, he does not feel the embrace that surround him, he does not feel the hot tears against his white cheek.

White.

That is what he is. White. Nothing but eternal everlasting white.

White.

His other name is called and he looks up, but he only sees white. A white hand held by a white body used by a pair of white eyes. They are calling him now.

White.

He cannot see where he is going, because it is all white. Loud sounds try to get into his ears, but the white keeps them out. The white keeps everything out.

White.

The door is white. Inside the door is white, with more with people and a white machine.

White.

He is on the white machine, but he does not know why. Ten white people are behind white glass, and they are looking at him. One waves a white hand at him, almost like goodbye.

Nothing.

That is what he is. Nothing. Like her, almost. He breathes unlike her, but that is nothing. Nothing is nothing. He lays forever in the nothing white, he looks at nothing, he feels nothing, he knows nothing.

Except for two single things.

_His labeled mind and white name._

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**Doesn't take a genius. **

**Read and Review.**


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